Marching to Pretoria
Marching, as one does in March. Mostly to keep warm, as it is quite chilly round these parts lately. Still. Something.
OK, the Radcon post? Will be this: We went to Radcon, we saw a lot of people, we had a good time, we ate some food, and then we came home. Oh, some people were drinking, but not me. I did boogie at the Radcon, a little bit, but as per usual, the dance was really a rave with angry house beat and the kids don't bathe and the mineral oil smoke is stupid, so after two separate 15-20 minute bouts, I was tired and irritated and not in my normal boogie happy place. Suckitude. I have issues with that DJ, but the kids seem to like it. I'm not a kid anymore, so I probably don't count. Dangit. So that's what happened in the Tri-Cities. Oh, and I bought a sparkly. I did not buy art, although I was tempted, but not as tempted as some people who were all about having shiny mutant metallic babies with the art they wanted to marry. That was not I. Just to clarify.
That's as much as I'm going to manage for a review, I'm afraid. I am still running around like a mad thing that is mad, although slightly less so. But even with the less so, there is all this paperwork that needs to be done to document the running around, and plus the normal chores and daily life random stuff that pops up, like bills and garage doors not working correctly and a new property manager and books I have to read Right Now showing up and dishes and cats just being cats. These things happen. And somehow the list of stuff that gets done is so very much shorter than the list of stuff I was planning on doing. Le sigh. Right now I am eating and finishing up work (note: work not actually getting finished, because I am doing this) and getting ready to run off to modern class to jump up and down and kick my own ass into shape, so that when the show comes in May I am not hugely fat and unable to move my big butt in a timely fashion. Also because I like dance. Also because I hate having a fat butt.
But once I get home, there is all this stuff to do. Which mostly doesn't get done. I need to figure out a way to combat the complete exhaustion and lassitude that comes over me as soon as I walk in the door (when I don't have something else to run off to. Come to think of it, even when I do). Because I feel so overwhelmingly tired I just want to sit down for a few minutes, and then I settle in under the blankets on the couch, and then it's all over. I'm there for the night. Which means that Nothing I planned on getting done that night gets done, and the weekend gets impossible. I just have to stay upright and moving until the chores are done. This is not news. I have known this for some time. But the couch is so very inviting, and I'm always so very tired to the point of fighting to keep my eyes open, and the chores are just so not interesting at all. Bleah. I have no self-discipline. This has always been my problem.
In non-whining and slightly more interesting news, I got my copy of Patricia Briggs "River Marked" in the mail on Monday, and proceeded to devour it without pause. Well, a little pause. I opened it when I had 20 minutes before I had to run to rehearsal, and started reading. And then I just barely managed to put it down in time to run to the studio. And then when I got home after 9, I sat down with it and a yogurt and read it until 1245 a.m. Ahem. Stupid. I forced myself to put it down and go to bed so I'd get at least some sleep, and then blearily got up to go to work the next morning, cursing myself roundly. I was not going to take the book with me, because I thought it would be too tempting to be bad.
I took it to work with me. I was a little bad. I read it on the bus, and then studiously ignored it until lunch time. And then took it with me to lunch, and then accidentally spent an extra 30 minutes at lunch finishing the book. Ahem. Whoops.
For those of you who don't know Patricia Briggs' work, this is the 6th in her Mercy Thompson series. Briggs' writing is brisk and engaging and her characters are captivating. Mercy Thompson is one of my favorite Urban Fantasy heroes. She kicks big evil magic ass, but is low-key about it. Although I worry for her insurance premiums, because she is kicked around right back quite a lot. (Or Alot, if you prefer.) I look forward to Patty Briggs' books coming out, and while I have to admit my favorite books of hers are the straight fantasy "Dragon Bones" and "Dragon Blood", the Mercy Thompson series is not low on my list. If you like Urban Fantasy, or smart alecks, or witty repartee between characters, then you could do worse than to look her up. I have to say that "River Marked" is totally made of win.
Another urban fantasy book I read recently is MLN Hanover's "Unclean Spirits." In full disclosure mode, I actually know the author personally, if not well (note, that is not the author's real name) and I thought I would give it a try based on the knowing of the person who wrote it. The cover did not inspire me, so if I didn't have that personal connection, I probably would have taken a pass on the book. Which actually would have been too bad, because I really enjoyed it. It didn't go quite how I expected it to, which was a nice surprise, and the character development was pretty interesting and not where I thought that was going, either. So again, nice surprise. The main character has some issues that bug me, but she is working on them, really actually working on them, if not always how I'd prefer, which I appreciate in a flawed character. I'm intrigued enough to take a look at the next book, anyway. So there you have it. Another confirmation of not being able to always judge a book by its cover. (PS, the cover really, really bothers me. Why? Because who wears shiny black pants that tight who isn't in a goth club, first off, and second off I'm tired of UF covers always making women fight, or pose as if fighting, in inappropriate clothing. For pity's sake, artists. NO ONE WEARS SHIT LIKE THAT TO FIGHT IN. NO ONE. TAKE NOTE, AND MOVE ON!) Sigh. But that's not the author's fault, so I should probably calm down a bit about it. Or buy these things on my handy-dandy Kindle, where I almost never see the covers of any books I buy for it anyway. Sad for artists, but what are you gonna do?
OK, that's enough farting around here while I eat and get ready to leave for dance class. To get rid of the calories that I have taken in by eating. Vicious cycle, thy name is life.
OK, the Radcon post? Will be this: We went to Radcon, we saw a lot of people, we had a good time, we ate some food, and then we came home. Oh, some people were drinking, but not me. I did boogie at the Radcon, a little bit, but as per usual, the dance was really a rave with angry house beat and the kids don't bathe and the mineral oil smoke is stupid, so after two separate 15-20 minute bouts, I was tired and irritated and not in my normal boogie happy place. Suckitude. I have issues with that DJ, but the kids seem to like it. I'm not a kid anymore, so I probably don't count. Dangit. So that's what happened in the Tri-Cities. Oh, and I bought a sparkly. I did not buy art, although I was tempted, but not as tempted as some people who were all about having shiny mutant metallic babies with the art they wanted to marry. That was not I. Just to clarify.
That's as much as I'm going to manage for a review, I'm afraid. I am still running around like a mad thing that is mad, although slightly less so. But even with the less so, there is all this paperwork that needs to be done to document the running around, and plus the normal chores and daily life random stuff that pops up, like bills and garage doors not working correctly and a new property manager and books I have to read Right Now showing up and dishes and cats just being cats. These things happen. And somehow the list of stuff that gets done is so very much shorter than the list of stuff I was planning on doing. Le sigh. Right now I am eating and finishing up work (note: work not actually getting finished, because I am doing this) and getting ready to run off to modern class to jump up and down and kick my own ass into shape, so that when the show comes in May I am not hugely fat and unable to move my big butt in a timely fashion. Also because I like dance. Also because I hate having a fat butt.
But once I get home, there is all this stuff to do. Which mostly doesn't get done. I need to figure out a way to combat the complete exhaustion and lassitude that comes over me as soon as I walk in the door (when I don't have something else to run off to. Come to think of it, even when I do). Because I feel so overwhelmingly tired I just want to sit down for a few minutes, and then I settle in under the blankets on the couch, and then it's all over. I'm there for the night. Which means that Nothing I planned on getting done that night gets done, and the weekend gets impossible. I just have to stay upright and moving until the chores are done. This is not news. I have known this for some time. But the couch is so very inviting, and I'm always so very tired to the point of fighting to keep my eyes open, and the chores are just so not interesting at all. Bleah. I have no self-discipline. This has always been my problem.
In non-whining and slightly more interesting news, I got my copy of Patricia Briggs "River Marked" in the mail on Monday, and proceeded to devour it without pause. Well, a little pause. I opened it when I had 20 minutes before I had to run to rehearsal, and started reading. And then I just barely managed to put it down in time to run to the studio. And then when I got home after 9, I sat down with it and a yogurt and read it until 1245 a.m. Ahem. Stupid. I forced myself to put it down and go to bed so I'd get at least some sleep, and then blearily got up to go to work the next morning, cursing myself roundly. I was not going to take the book with me, because I thought it would be too tempting to be bad.
I took it to work with me. I was a little bad. I read it on the bus, and then studiously ignored it until lunch time. And then took it with me to lunch, and then accidentally spent an extra 30 minutes at lunch finishing the book. Ahem. Whoops.
For those of you who don't know Patricia Briggs' work, this is the 6th in her Mercy Thompson series. Briggs' writing is brisk and engaging and her characters are captivating. Mercy Thompson is one of my favorite Urban Fantasy heroes. She kicks big evil magic ass, but is low-key about it. Although I worry for her insurance premiums, because she is kicked around right back quite a lot. (Or Alot, if you prefer.) I look forward to Patty Briggs' books coming out, and while I have to admit my favorite books of hers are the straight fantasy "Dragon Bones" and "Dragon Blood", the Mercy Thompson series is not low on my list. If you like Urban Fantasy, or smart alecks, or witty repartee between characters, then you could do worse than to look her up. I have to say that "River Marked" is totally made of win.
Another urban fantasy book I read recently is MLN Hanover's "Unclean Spirits." In full disclosure mode, I actually know the author personally, if not well (note, that is not the author's real name) and I thought I would give it a try based on the knowing of the person who wrote it. The cover did not inspire me, so if I didn't have that personal connection, I probably would have taken a pass on the book. Which actually would have been too bad, because I really enjoyed it. It didn't go quite how I expected it to, which was a nice surprise, and the character development was pretty interesting and not where I thought that was going, either. So again, nice surprise. The main character has some issues that bug me, but she is working on them, really actually working on them, if not always how I'd prefer, which I appreciate in a flawed character. I'm intrigued enough to take a look at the next book, anyway. So there you have it. Another confirmation of not being able to always judge a book by its cover. (PS, the cover really, really bothers me. Why? Because who wears shiny black pants that tight who isn't in a goth club, first off, and second off I'm tired of UF covers always making women fight, or pose as if fighting, in inappropriate clothing. For pity's sake, artists. NO ONE WEARS SHIT LIKE THAT TO FIGHT IN. NO ONE. TAKE NOTE, AND MOVE ON!) Sigh. But that's not the author's fault, so I should probably calm down a bit about it. Or buy these things on my handy-dandy Kindle, where I almost never see the covers of any books I buy for it anyway. Sad for artists, but what are you gonna do?
OK, that's enough farting around here while I eat and get ready to leave for dance class. To get rid of the calories that I have taken in by eating. Vicious cycle, thy name is life.